


Maybe

by Toastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Introspection, Three am, middle of the night musings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 19:26:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10497903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastiel/pseuds/Toastiel
Summary: Chuck can't sleep.





	

Chuck groaned and rolled over, moving his arm from where he’d thrown it over his eyes, and looked at the clock on the bedside table. The annoyingly bright red numbers assaulted his eyes like a blinding sun and filled the surrounding darkness of his room with an eerie crimson glow. 

3:45 AM

“Ugh!” He flopped back onto the bed, sinking into his pillows and blankets as though they could offer him some small respite from the plight that was his brain. It never seemed to cease its movements, always churning, always imagining, always reminding him of his incredible inability to function like a normal human being. 

He wasn’t a normal human being, though, was he?

No, he mused. He didn’t have that luxury. He was more than they could ever dream of being, and less than he ever wanted to admit. He envied his creations, he’d realized long ago. They could make mistakes, they could screw things up, they could experience things with awe and excitement and curiosity. They could feel. 

He felt, too, of course. Just not the same way. He didn’t have the one thing that made them all so...perfectly imperfect. He didn’t have a soul. He never had. He was God, he didn’t need one.

He wanted one, though. He wanted one more than he wanted pretty much anything, because maybe then, maybe if he had one, he’d be enough. Maybe, if he had a soul, she’d see that he was just like her, so scared and damaged and beautiful. Maybe she’d look at him the way she looked at Sam, or Dean, or even Cas. 

“Maybe…” Chuck sighed, letting out a hollow, breathy, sardonic chuckle. It was all just wishful thinking, he knew, because if he did have a soul, she still wouldn’t spare him the time of day. He wasn’t worth it. He never had been. He was a lousy father, a lousy writer, and a lousy God. He was a coward and even she knew it. 

She deserved better than him. She deserved the world held before her on a silver platter, and while he knew he could give her that, he also knew that, coming from him, it would be an empty gesture. She was the kind of person that loved with her whole being, no matter the risk of getting hurt (and boy, had she been hurt), and he knew that he couldn’t even begin to come close to reciprocating that love. Not the way she deserved it. 

Maybe it was for the best that he didn’t have a soul. Maybe, without a soul, he didn’t hurt as much as he could have when she flashed him that billion-watt smile he knew would never be meant just for him. Maybe, without a soul, he was saving her from himself. 

Chuck started at the sound of a soft knock on his door. He’d been so lost in his own musings that he had forgotten about sleeping. He knew without getting up that she was on the other side of his door, wrapped in her fuzzy pink bathrobe, her hair a frizzy mess, her feet shoved into those adorable bunny slippers she insisted on wearing. He also knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t turn her away, no matter what she was there for. 

He glanced back over at the clock. Maybe she was just calling him to breakfast. 

3:45 AM

“Huh,” He muttered as he tossed back the blankets. Maybe she was there for something more than breakfast after all.


End file.
